


Like air, like breath

by CardboardMoose



Series: The works of our hands [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardboardMoose/pseuds/CardboardMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An announcement is made, and reactions follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like air, like breath

It's Eridan who sees it first.

They run into him stalking down one of the labyrinthine corridors that seem to comprise most of the lab, cape alternating between billowing behind him and tangling itself around his feet. He's learning the art of recovering from each near-trip with a minimum of lost balance, but it's not quite the dignified sight he might wish to achieve.

His eyes narrow when he sees them walking together (just close enough to feel the warmth of proximity, the occasional brush of skin-on-skin), and narrow further when he pays enough attention to take in the markings on Equius' face. He takes a step back.

"For fuck's sake."

Gamzee's head tilts to one side, ever-present faint smile not fading. Equius stands his ground, grateful for the small protection offered by his glasses. This was not entirely how he wanted the first conversation to occur. He resists the urge to voice his objection to the prince's language. Unbefitting as it is, a correction might not help matters at the present time.

"Bro? You cool?"

Eridan is evidentially not cool. His lips curl up into a snarl, revealing rows of pin-sharp teeth, and his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"He's wwearing your fuckin'...this swweaty land dweller fuck manages to get himself a fuckin' matesprit and I can't evven, no-one evven...fuck. _Fuck._ "

He turns on his heel, pauses a moment to pull his cape from about his legs, and storms back the way he came, muttering darkly under his breath. Gamzee looks perplexed.

"Motherfucker's got some issues, man. He should chill, does a brother no good to be getting all upset like that."

"I think," Equius begins, carefully, because one does not criticise a highblood without considerable caution, "that he might benefit from some modifications to his behaviour, yes."

Gamzee grins at him, and they begin to walk again, following the long (impossibly long, whoever knew a lab could contain so much empty space?) tortuous path towards the nutrition dispensation venue. It's not necessarily the ideal way to introduce everyone else to the flushed relationship within their midst, but Equius refuses to be turned from this path. Matters between himself and most of the other trolls are...strained at best, and perhaps the wisest course of action would be to break the news in a more cautious manner, but...no. He is done with caution.

Caution is the time he had spent knowing - _knowing_ , deep in his bones - that Gamzee would never look twice at him, that _no-one_ would ever look at him in anything but fear or disgust or scorn. Caution is every destroyed robot that had suffered the results of his solitude. Caution is the quiet moments in the night (or what passed for night, here at the end of things) when he had cursed the strength of his hands, the hue of his blood, for the hopelessness that took hold of him. Caution is being afraid of his own nature until the day Gamzee had taken his hand and changed everything.

He has no more use for caution.

As if knowing his thoughts, Gamzee looks at him, murmurs a soft, "you gonna be okay?"

"Yes," he says, knowing it is true.

\---

They walk through the door.

"What the fuck is that on your face," barks Karkat in a flat tone that implies that he doesn't actually want to know the answer but gogdammit he's going to hear it anyway so get on with it. Tavros, seated some way behind him, looks up and blushes russet when he sees them. Apparently Gamzee has told him of the traditions of the Subjugglators. At least that means one fewer conversation to be had, though the next tune-up on his legs will undoubtedly be awkward.

Karkat is still standing there, arms crossed over his chest, glowering. Equius feels his hackles rise, his ire building at the bluntness of Karkat's manner, but before he can do anything foolish Gamzee steps forward, beaming at Karkat like he's his best bro (Gamzee treats the world like his closest friend, and one day it'll get him hurt but his kindness is a beautiful thing, for now).

"It's the motherfucking wicked paints, my brother!" he grins, like there's no reason in the world Karkat wouldn't share his enthusiasm. "Turns out my man Equius and me got all kinds of pity going on for each other, so we've gone and made this shit motherfucking official."

Karkat blinks.

"Leaving aside for now the implications of the two of you - don't even start, I don't want to know, I _don't_ , that doesn't enlighten me - or the peanut gallery," he offers a glare to the half-dozen or so others in the room, who are all watching intently, "as to why the fuck he has bullshit clownpaint on his face."

"It's a mark." Equius says, surprising himself. Karkat's glare transfers to him, but he's too far gone to stop now. "A mark of...commitment. Ownership. The High Subjugglators mark the trolls they...claim with paint that matches their own. I would ask you not to demean it, _lowblood_."

Karkat snarls and lunges forward, but Gamzee's hand is on his chest, halting, placating. He looks at Equius, and the mild disappointment in his eyes makes him feel ashamed. He looks away.

"Hey, hey, we're not fucking doing this, okay?" he says. "We're all motherfucking cool, we don't gotta be doing this shit, I don't want no bad vibes between my brothers." He's not stopped smiling, still sure that everything is fine, everything will always be fine. It's an infectious attitude.

Karkat huffs, stepping away from Gamzee's touch and eyeing them both up.

"Fucking...fine. Fine! Do your bullshit fucking redrom clown thing, just don't start filling pails in the fucking hallways. You fucking people, I swear..."

It's as close to congratulations as they're ever going to get out of him.

He feels the touch of cold steel on his arm, and turns to see Aradia standing beside him. She regards him with compassion, and there is a small ache somewhere inside his chest, but it hurts less than he might have thought, once upon a time.

"He makes you happy?" she asks. He hears the whir of tiny mechanisms in her voice.

Equius resists the urge to lower his head, to be embarrassed by the question. When he summons his voice, it is a whisper.

"Yes."

She nods and favours him with a small smile, a testament in its subtlety to the skill of his hands and the grace of her nature.

"Then I wish you both happiness."

He watches her walk away, and wonders if this is what closure feels like.

His thoughts are abruptly terminated by a squeal and a body impacting into his side, knocking him flat on his back.

"I knew it! I _knew_ it! You were so purrfect for each other, and you've been pussyfooting around him for weeks!" Nepeta is practically bouncing with glee, driving the breath out of his lungs with each emphatic thump of her hands on his chest. She seems pleased, at least.

She takes Gamzee's proffered hand and springs upwards, throwing her arms around his neck for a moment before pulling back, holding him by the shoulders.

"You take care of him, okay? You hurt him even a whisker and I will get you _so bad_." Her voice is light but even from the floor Equius can see the fire in her eyes. He's proud, in a strange sort of way. Gamzee is laughing, assuring her that yes, chica, he'll take the best motherfucking care of him, and she seems satisfied at that, bounding away to - he can only assume - update the all-important shipping wall.

That appears to be all the response they're likely to get from the trolls in the room. Sollux and Feferi, eating together in one corner, have bowed their heads to their food and each other once more, seemingly disinterested in the romantic shenanigans around them. Equius can't say he blames them.

Lunch is, after that, a fairly quiet affair. Gamzee doodles on the table in sopor slime, leaving green echoes of his matesprit's markings in his wake. Equius is merely pleased to have broken no crockery.

\---

Back in Gamzee's respiteblock, they sit with their backs against the door. Gamzee - never surrendering to the lanky awkwardness of his limbs - has contorted his legs into an loose cross, and Equius' left hand rests carefully on Gamzee's bare foot. His thumb traces the instep, over and over, calloused pad running over soft skin. It is the only movement in the room.

"That was not...as problematic as it might have been," Equius says, at last, his voice sounding oddly loud in the silence. There is no response bar a vague murmur from beside him, and he looks at Gamzee only to find that the highblood has lapsed into a doze, face set in a contented smile. His breathing is slow and even, and Equius can feel the dull thud of his pulse under his hand.

He moves then, raises one hand to touch Gamzee's face, traces the edge of one dark circle around an eye, feeling the memory of the highblood's hands on his own face, like the touch of a ghost. Gamzee leans into his hand, unwaking, leaving tiny smudges of white and grey on his fingers.

He should wake him. They should talk, discuss the events of the day, what they must still do, who they must still speak to. He should...

He does not.

Instead, he lies down, setting his head between Gamzee's hands resting limp in his lap. Gamzee makes a small sound, low in his chest, and he feels one hand curl into his hair. He closes his eyes.

Equius feels the warmth of Gamzee's body under his, and breathes out.


End file.
